


My Tastes Incline Me

by Caffiends, tzigane



Category: Amelia Peabody - Elizabeth Peters
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-10
Updated: 2010-12-10
Packaged: 2017-10-13 14:56:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Caffiends, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tzigane/pseuds/tzigane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His life had not been particularly nice before he had come to join the Emerson family. In many ways, he had been old before he had ever joined them; he knew more about matters of the flesh than he should have, less about artistry than he wanted, and nothing whatsoever about kindness or friendship or love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Tastes Incline Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silveronthetree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silveronthetree/gifts).



_1900_

It was Signor Giovanni Riccetti who had made him curious.

The man had been in no way attractive to Walter Peabody 'Ramses' Emerson. The solid truth was that he already knew whom he loved, despite the age difference and Nefret's general lack of acknowledgment of his feelings; however, love and experience did not necessarily go hand in hand, despite the assurances otherwise of Ramses's mother, the inimitable Amelia Peabody Emerson. If she had known of the secondary appallingly frank conversation he had finally had with his father, renowned archaeologist Radcliffe Emerson, Ramses felt sure they both would have suffered the full brunt of her wrath. His mother surely felt the primary discussion some years prior was explanation enough, despite Ramses knowing better. Fortunately, she remained unaware of their latest confabulation, which left him to get on with his favorite part of any educational pursuit -- namely, experience.

His father had not been willing to part with many more explicit details; nonetheless, Ramses had come away from their conference with some clear understandings and others not so apparent. The assertion of Ramses's father regarding the gentleman's 'Turkish Habits' had piqued his curiosity -- whatever that had meant, and Ramses was remarkably certain it did not mean the gluttony which had been thereafter brought into discussion by his loving parents, most likely in the vain hope that he would bypass the matter entirely and let it go at that. They should have known he would be unlikely to do so, but at the advanced age of thirteen, Ramses had long known that one's parents were often blinded by fond hope, admittedly his father more so than his mother. Hope, after all, sprang eternal in the paternal and maternal breasts, and Ramses had finally discovered that biting his tongue led to even more advanced freedoms than he had thus far enjoyed.

That being said, it had been no great difficulty to proceed with his plans for gaining further education and experience regarding the matter at hand. With his black, curly hair and swarthy complexion, he was often mistaken for an Egyptian lad rather than an Englishman. A change of clothing and the addition of several small accouterments made any observation of his planned activities much less likely to be in any way harmful to him or his loved ones thanks to his growing cadre of disguises and personalities. Ali, he decided with no small pleasure, was an entirely suitable name.

Checking to be sure he could pass unobserved, Ramses slipped out of the window of his Shepheard's hotel room and shinned his way carefully down into the gardens. From there it was but a short trek into the less desirable part of Cairo and the next step in his path to higher learning.

It was rather unfortunate that he found it blocked by another boy, staring at him from out of the shadows.

"David." It was greeting more than accusation. They were friends, after all, and brothers. "I am going exploring." Yes, exploring, that was quite an excellent word for it. Exploration was, after all, a part of gaining a new appreciation of the facts, as the case might be.

The other boy was nearly his size, although somewhat older; neither of them was entirely certain how much. Although he was the grandson of his father's reis, Abdullah, David Todros had lived a life of privation and hardship. After the death of his disgraced mother, his drunken father had sold him into an apprenticeship with Abd el Hamed, and David had spent his life learning to forge Egyptian antiquities. Since he had come to live with them, Ramses had been teaching him both English as well as to read hieroglyphs. "Then I will go with you."

For a moment, Ramses felt flustered, uncertain of himself, which was not at all common in his experience. There was something about David as there was something about Nefret, some indefinable quality that brought forth in him a difficulty in denying requests from either of them. "David...."

"Then I will go with you." He spoke firmly and in English before continuing in Arabic. "Brother, I know what is in your heart."

Well. That was doubtful, but one could never tell. David often knew precisely what he was thinking, and they had been developing an ability to share knowledge with glances only. It was a vital part of being able to keep anything secret from his mother for very long. "Then you know that I will be perfectly all right," Ramses responded. "It is, after all, only knowledge for the sake of knowledge."

David remained before him, stolid and immovable. "I think you are curious about things that can only come to no good. Trust me in this, friend. Ramses."

Well.

That was certainly curious, and he tilted his head at David, endeavoring not to be meretriciously inquisitive. It was most difficult for him, and so he began to arrange his thoughts in his head as they stood staring at one another in the garden. "Perhaps," Ramses said finally, "we could return upstairs. You could tell me what you mean. Conceivably," he continued, "we could plan appropriate castigation for anyone you might feel deserving of such."

Watching the mouth of his friend and brother curl slightly brought evident warmth to Ramses's chest, suffusing him with a distinct and memorable pleasure. "I think that perhaps I shall never have another friend quite the same as you," David murmured, stepping up to him and then looking back up towards his room. "Shall we return?" He waited for Ramses to agree, uncomplaining and imperturbable.

Finally, Ramses gave the only answer that he could. "Yes, but I think perhaps we should discuss this matter further." Then he would decide exactly what to do about the matter; there was no need to consult his mother or father, and certainly not Uncle Walter or Aunt Evelyn, who adored David and believed in him to the fullest. He laid a hand upon one of the protuberances of stones that had made it so easy to come down and began to climb with David right behind him.

There were many ways to gain knowledge and experience, and it was entirely possible that the best way was from a friend.

* * *

  
 _1903_

David Todros had long grown accustomed to a different life than the one he had lived in his youth. One of the things to which he had become habituated was his friend and brother, Ramses, and the strange and occasionally erratic manner in which their lives now proceeded. Once Ramses made a decision, it was quite unusual for that determination to fall by the wayside. He was not unlike the Father of Curses in that way, although David believed most sincerely that Ramses was subtler in the ways he asserted his will.

Sheikh Mohammed had offered for years to take Ramses during the six months his parents returned to England. With Ramses's sixteenth birthday on the horizon, his own entreaties and the demands of his father, esteemed professor and excavator Radcliffe Emerson, had overridden the demands of Aunt Amelia that he return with them. David had, of course, joined him in his stay at the Beduin camp, and thus far he believed that the entire experience had been everything that Ramses had hoped that it would be.

In some ways, David felt that perhaps it had been even more than that. His life had not been particularly nice before he had come to join the Emerson family. In many ways, he had been old before he had ever joined them; he knew more about matters of the flesh than he should have, less about artistry than he wanted, and nothing whatsoever about kindness or friendship or love. The advent of the Emersons in Abd el Hamed's poor house had brought all of those things flooding into his life as the sun rising above the cliffs spilled into the Valley of the Kings, and David had found no reason to be shy in returning the same gifts to the best of his poor ability.

The tent flaps came open suddenly, making him look up from his sketchpad. Working by the light of a single lamp was terrible, but he had no particular plans for these sketches. They were only practice. "You know, this is one of the reasons that they call you Akhu el-Efreet." There were many others, of course, but Ramses's ability to show up unexpectedly without a sound and his seemingly magical aptitude for knowing everything about everyone exceeded even the detectival abilities of his mother. Of course, David was familiar with Ramses's tactics for achieving this; however, he could see where it would seem like magic to persons less educated.

Once, he would have believed as well.

Ramses began unwinding his khafiya, revealing the curve of his mouth. "There was no way to knock and advise you of my return."

That was true. "Did you enjoy yourself?" The only reason David had not gone with him was the faintest of forebodings niggling at the back of his mind. Instead he had ridden to Gurneh in order to visit his family, and thus had missed out on whatever adventures in which Ramses might have indulged.

"Very much so. I'm afraid I got into a bit of a fight." Of course he had; but that was part of growing to manhood here, and it was taken well. Altercations were not serious, not with Ramses nor with David, amusingly enough. They were simply tussles meant to form them into better fighters, better men. It was something Aunt Amelia would never truly fully comprehend, although clearly the professor understood.

"Let me see to you, then." For so many reasons -- because they were blood brothers, because they were friends, because Aunt Amelia would be adamant about it, and if she returned to find her box of medical supplies unopened and unused, it would not be worth his life nor that of Ramses. Some things were best left untested.

The best reason, however, was that he knew what might be of interest to Ramses at this moment, just as it was certainly of interest to David.

Before he had left, the professor had taken them aside to hold a rather frank discourse. It had been equally embarrassing for him as it had been for David and Ramses, although both of them had already been aware to some greater or lesser degree than the other of the details. As slave to Abd el Hamed, David had been sold or lent out for many reasons not involving his artistry, and he was perhaps more aware of these things than he would have liked to state. Ramses's father had been less clear on the particulars of the matter, but they had both come away with a clear understanding that one's pursuit of experience should be limited to persons who would not be deemed as harmed by the occurrence. They both knew without asking, of course, that Nefret held the clear perception that such an incident would in no way be detrimental to her; Ramses, on the other hand, was entirely too aware that it would be risky at best and injurious at worst. David thought that the English, on the whole, spent too much time worrying about such things and that perhaps, in some ways, his own people were more realistic about such matters.

Still -- when in Rome, one did as Romans did. That would be the case for any young female regardless of societal standing or the very common local practice of marrying off daughters their own ages or younger to questionable gentlemen of more advanced years, all of which led to a further discussion between the two of them once they were alone.

It was not unheard of in many lands, although often it was not well thought of, either; but experience in pleasure was certainly a required part of becoming a man, and taking great care of whence one partook was part of being an intelligent one. While neither of them had been shy concerning the willing ladies of dubious virtue, David had also shared with Ramses some of the more esoteric of his experiences. There were certain acts which he found himself reluctant to perform, but his friend understood, and the pleasure of their time together had bonded them more tightly than they had ever before been. This was an act of love between friends; it in no way impinged upon their companionship or the feelings that either of them might have for others.

Ramses seemed to understand without explanation, and he began removing his clothing, watching David closely in the light. "I should bathe." He was undoubtedly sticky with sweat, stinking of camels, and covered in sand that would probably be uncomfortable to shake out of their bedrolls when the time came.

There were worse things.

"You'll only be dirty again soon enough." Carefully, David settled his sketchbook at the end of his own bedroll and rolled to his feet. "If you might be so inclined."

"To be dirty again, or to bathe?" Ramses stepped out of his pants, seemingly careless of whether they were near water at all. Modesty was certainly a commodity long since ascertained to be reasonably absent in Emerson men, and David allowed his gaze to linger over the finely muscled chest of his friend for a moment before stepping up to him.

"To be dirty again," he murmured, and raised a hand to Ramses's face. He had grown quite a few inches since they had been in the desert, making them of similar height as well as build. Leaning in to kiss him was easy.

Ramses didn't resist, nor did he seem to desire such a thing. He leaned into David, and his back went soft, relaxed, even when he pulled away a little. "One follows the other with necessity."

"Then let us make it another necessity." Pleasure with one another was in no way a shame; it was much better than indulging with someone else, someone he didn't know. He pressed his mouth warmly to Ramses's, tongue teasing at him, the touch of his mustache silky, tickling against David's upper lip. It was slow and sensual, exactly as he liked. He enjoyed taking his time, feeling it not just in his hands and his lips but also in his chest and his heart. David liked the soft touch of Ramses's face and mouth, his fingertips lingering. This was much more pleasant than the earlier times, enough to make him forget them. Almost.

Almost, but not always, and Ramses understood that without any explanation being required. Ramses had preferences that were compatible to his, an enjoyment of acts for which David had no liking. It perhaps made David that much more careful in the way he did it, the way he allowed one hand to luxuriate in the smooth line of Ramses's hip while the other stroked up his chest. "Perhaps," he murmured, close against Ramses's mouth, "we should lie down."

"And I was thinking I could present you a challenge." Standing wasn't quite as comfortable, though; it was entirely impractical in a tent, and he prodded Ramses effortlessly, stepping backwards towards the bedrolls.

"I am always glad to accept a challenge, but there are times when easy may be just as enticing." David could certainly appreciate both of those possibilities; however, the sight of Ramses, dirty, sweaty, and bruised as he sprawled out upon the bedroll, had an allurement that he could not in any way deny. Carefully, he dropped to a single knee beside him, looking down. He would definitely have to dig out the ointments later, but for now he would make certain they enjoyed themselves.

There was a faint smirk ghosting over Ramses's mouth, and he stretched, inhaling and squirming his hips down a little. "I suppose we can do easy. I'm sore already." Sore and smug with himself, yes. Obviously he'd been the winner of his little scuffle, not that David was in any way surprised.

"Then perhaps I should fetch Aunt Amelia's box and rub you down instead."

"Do you need the box to rub me down?" He stretched again, invitingly enough that David wanted to say no. Needed to deny it, and so he didn't bother. Instead, he leaned down, slid close to Ramses and brought their bodies in line with one another.

David smiled down at him, relishing the contact, the moment. "Would it be wrong to confess that I already have everything we need close by?"

"Only if you were lying." Ramses pulled at him, vaguely impatient in his insistence. He was half-hard already, and David was sure that would soon be more needy, wanting. It was inevitable, and he slid his hand down to clasp the erection that lay between them, stroking it, encouraging him.

"Not lying," he promised, and leaned down to catch Ramses's mouth again, all mustache and ridiculously soft lips.

It quieted Ramses, slow kisses that worked through him as much as the stroking of his fingers did, perhaps better, and made his hands clutch loosely against David's shoulders, arms, roaming. The feel of it was welcoming, easy, and David carefully didn't think of some of the things lingering at the back of his mind. Instead, he moved over Ramses, lined up their bodies, and pushed his own hardness against the line of Ramses's.

Ramses arched against him, predictable, one foot on the thin mattress giving them both friction of motion. He didn't need to tell Ramses to do that or any of the other natural reactions he had to a slowly heating sensation. The other boy was a sensual creature, funny in comparison to his reserved nature in public. Things were different between them, between all of them, and he moaned quietly against those soft, thin lips, and thrust against the groove of his hip. "Yes. Yes, oh, I...." Wanted to take his time, enjoy the feeling of Ramses underneath of him, of comfortable familiarity that stripped away outside presentations, the expectations of the world, the desert.

The lamplight gilded that patrician nose, the dark hooded eyes, and David gasped with the pleasure of it, of watching the flush that crept up his cheekbones. "Yes," Ramses agreed, and in that moment, David knew it was time. He reached for the pot at the edge of the bedroll, and again slipped to the side of him. Still close, because why do it if not for the closeness, for the sharing of bodily grime and aches between them? Ramses watched, interested, deep inside of himself, though there was pleasure to be had, David decided, in watching one person prepare their own fingers.

"Are you ready?" He didn't have to ask, but he needed to, all the same. It was vitally necessary that he hear Ramses say it, even as he slid his hand down to parting thighs, past the heaviness of his manly parts.

"Yes. Yes, I think I was ready when I came into the tent." There had been a look in his eye, certainly, still rallied from his victory. There was something about violence that, on occasion, stirred the passion of a man.

Well. Ramses, in any case, and David slid his fingers gently to part the aperture there and slick the necessary parts to ease the way. Ramses was warm and tight to the touch, his head dropping back, his mouth opening on a panting breath to express his appreciation. "Oh. Oh, yes, that is... quite respectably pleasurable to see."

Ramses laughed, halfway towards panting while he arched up to David's fingers. "It's quite pleasurable to feel. Oh..." Mmm, yes, and another motion of his fingers gained him a delicious sound, one that made him lean in to kiss it away from the lips of his friend.

The slickness was well worked in, but David found himself reluctant to pull away his fingers. It was always so -- Ramses warm and tight inside, clinging to David's touch so that he only wanted to continue.

He knew the next part felt marvelous, yes, but there was an intimacy in that moment, of hand on body, fingers inside, of being able to see everything he liked best to behold when they committed to the act. "Please."

It was not a word that passed his friend's lips easily. Only when he truly was ready, full of desire, would he allow it to be spoken. Simply hearing it made him shudder, and he drew his touch away before he slid over him and between his thighs. "Always. Always."

There was a faint nod, because Ramses knew that was true, knew it and accepted it and moved on, waiting for the more that was to come. He shifted, reached a hand out to stroke David's hip as he settled, a hand helping to adjust himself, to slide carefully up against that slippery orifice.

"Now," he murmured, and pushed, slow and easy, the oil easing his way into Ramses's hot flesh. The hissed intake of breath stilled him for a moment, until Ramses exhaled in a shivering 'oh' of breath, his mouth falling more loosely open. He always seemed to enjoy himself, even if David had never cared for the act in the same way that Ramses did. It was an invasion, and yet Ramses flexed the length of his body, feet planted flat in order to push himself up, meet David's downward motion. It was good to him, David was sure, or he wouldn't want to do this together.

Ramses was not the sort of man to grit his teeth and bear through to feign pleasure, which was a comfort for David as he eased his way inside. He wanted to feel that wonderful tight heat, just to see the flex of his muscles, the way Ramses seemed to open to him, as if it was easy. "Yes. Yes, Ramses, I...."

He pulled out and slid in again, deliberate and smooth, teasing him with sensation by moving in measured motions. There was an impatient movement, as if Ramses would demand more, and David gave a soft sound, spoke to him low. "Touch. Touch...." Touch himself, yes, that was what he wanted to see, to feel.

"Touch myself?" Ramses stroked a hand over his own stomach, tantalizingly close to his cock for a moment before he wrapped his fingers firmly around it. That was exactly what David needed, and he caught his breath, pulling back and pushing inside again a bit precipitately. It made his friend give a muffled sound, his other hand rising to press against his mouth and suppress any further noise. There was no need for everyone to know in any specific manner what they were doing, and Ramses preferred his privacy. Preferred that no one but David know what he looked like just then, or sounded like. Their delectation was between them, and them only.

Reaching down, he pulled at Ramses's leg, and his friend moved it, wrapped a knee around his hip. One foot remained planted against the bedroll to assist with motion, pressure, and David rested his hands on either side of Ramses's chest to begin steadily sliding deep and withdrawing.

"Ugh, this... this is going to be worth bathing for." His eyes were laughing, while Ramses clung to him, winding his other arm behind his back while he kept stroking himself off. The touch of it against David's belly was an encouragement, and he moved steadily, gasping with the sensations that filled him, welling up deep in his core with every motion, every tight clutch of Ramses's body.

"Oh. Oh. Oh Ramses. I...." Yes. He was going to spill deep inside of his brother, his friend, and the need for relief was building, running rampant. He hoped that he would be able to hold off, manage to wait for his friend to come with him, and David opened his eyes to watch him carefully.

There was no better moment than watching Ramses twist and contort his way to orgasm, riding David as much as David was riding him. The slick spill between them combined with the tight clutch around his manhood gave him permission, and he gasped, pushed, pushed, pushed, and shuddered his way to completion, slumping down onto Ramses's chest.

It was some moments before his mind would truly function properly. "You stink," he murmured, allowing a smile to curve upon his face. "More so now than you previously did."

"Worthy of a long bath, though." Ramses stretched, the heel of one foot dragging against the back of David's thigh.

"And then a proper application of Aunt Amelia's medicines. You'll be ridiculously sore come morning. Tell me about the fight."

"Oh, it was just a simple misunderstanding and matter of pride." Nothing for David to worry about, he hoped, no assassination waiting around the corner then, although with the Emersons, one could never truly tell.

"Then shall we bathe?" It seemed the thing to do -- bathe and shake the sound out of the bedding.

Ramses was almost lazy to spring into action again, but slowly sat up. "Yes."

Yes, and David rose, offering his hand to Ramses. "Come, then."

The vague tingle of apprehension was still there even now, but it was fading away with the presence of Ramses, rising up from the bedroll. Perhaps it was always thus -- that Ramses's presence would calm his misgivings and make him more confident in his surroundings, less likely to believe in the possibility of premonitions and bad dreams being made real. "Have I mentioned that Sheikh Mohammed is planning to give us Risha and Asfur?"

There was no stopping his smile. "And now you have spoiled his surprise."

The way Ramses smiled at him, though, the barest curl of his lips, that was worth almost anything in David's opinion. "Not so much spoiled as given you adequate time to prepare an appropriate response. Come." He rubbed a hand over his belly, smearing the remaining seminal fluid. "Let us bathe."

Yes. That was an excellent idea, and so David turned from him to gather soap and linen cloths, tossing Ramses a pair of loose cotton drawers to wear through the camp. "And get the stench off of you," he agreed. There was time later for presentiment, the kind of disquietude that always seemed to come up around the Emerson family, but for now...

For now, it was good to take pleasure in this time with his friend, and to have the things that they shared together.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks and love to all of the wonderful ladies who helped me with this -- writing, proofing, and poking with sticks. ♥ I don't know what I would do without all of you! At least half of the credit goes to [Kat](http://zaganthi.livejournal.com/), who is as always my partner in crime. ♥


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